


sit back and watch the bed burn

by evewithanapple



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: F/F, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25905760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evewithanapple/pseuds/evewithanapple
Summary: Nile takes some stress relief where she can.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Nile Freeman
Comments: 14
Kudos: 89





	sit back and watch the bed burn

Nile’s never actually had a bedroom to herself before. Growing up, she’d shared one of their apartment’s two bedrooms with her brother (and if _that_ hadn’t been an exercise in patience, she doesn’t know what is) and then she’d gone on to boot camp, where she’d always had at least one roommate. And that was when she’d actually had a room as opposed to a tent. When she arrived in Goussainsville and been shown a room she was to share with four other people, she’d assumed the rest of her (long) life was going to be more of the same.

So it comes as a surprise – and more than a bit of a treat – when they arrive at their next safehouse (in Escaldes-Engordany, Andorra, right on the Spanish border: three days and she’s been in more countries than she’s visited in the preceding twenty-six years) and discovers that it has three separate bedrooms, all of which are behind doors with working locks. None of the beds are made up (“we haven’t been here in years,” Joe tells her, and she doesn’t know if “years” encompasses five or five hundred) but the linen closet is stocked, and she’s not averse to making her own bed. She’s done it often enough before, and it’s a small price to pay for privacy.

(It occurs to her, as she’s smoothing the sheets down, that her room must have been Booker’s, before – if they were still an army of five, she’d be the odd one out, and someone would have had to sleep on the couch. _Lucky_ , she thinks, then resolves not to think about it at all.)

Andy takes off after two weeks, muttering something cryptic about “errands.” Nile protests, wants to follow – what’s she going to do out there without backup, how could it possibly be safe? – but Andy all but laughs in her face before she leaves. The others don’t seem especially concerned, so Nile reluctantly lets it go.

Left to her own devices, she goes to bed early. Joe and Nicky are sitting in in the living room, sketching (Joe) and watching some cooking show (Nicky) and they invite her to stay, but she declines. They’ve all gotten to know each other pretty quickly – several near-death experiences in a row followed by two weeks of hiding out together in the same house will do that – but she still feels kind of weird playing third wheel. Besides, she has that nice, private bedroom to enjoy. Alone time is a novelty, and she wants to enjoy it while she can.

(She’s realizing more and more that there are no limits on her time – that if she can’t be alone now, she’ll have infinite years to do it in the future, that she can go hide out in a cabin in the woods for fifty years and it won’t mean anything in the long run because the long run will never end. Another thing she’s been trying not to think about.)

Instead, she closes the door, locks it, and flops back on her bed. She’s already changed into her pajamas and wrapped her hair; she could easily fall asleep right here. But her body doesn’t want to concede. Her nerves are all vibrating with near-constant tension, ever since Goussainsville, a constant awareness of danger just outside the edges of her perspective. She knows it’s nonsensical, that they’re not actually in any danger, but her nervous system isn’t getting with the program. She hasn’t been sleeping well, private bedroom or no.

Training helps. Sometimes with the guys, but mostly with Andy. _Preferably_ with Andy; Joe and Nicky will sometimes pull punches out of a sense of fairness, or protectiveness, or a general older-brother ethos that’s already getting on her nerves. One of these days, she’s going to kick both their asses just to prove she can, and hopefully that’ll put paid to any idea that she can’t hold her own. But Andy never assumed that to begin with, and she’s taken Nile’s legs out from under her more than once. Nile’s getting used to the crack of bones, the feeling of her brain jarring against the walls of her skull when Andy slams her into the dirt. She fucking _loves_ it. Loves the jump of adrenaline in her blood, loves the sting of sweat dripping into her eyes, loves the paradoxical reminder that she’s alive. That she made herself for this, ran drills and lifted weights and honed her body into a weapon she can always reach for.

She notices then that she’s been absently rubbing her hand over the crotch of her pajama pants and huffs a quiet laugh. Well, that’s one way to unwind.

She slides her fingertips under the waistband, just teasing for now. Working her way up. This is another one of those things she didn’t get to indulge in much when she didn’t have a room of her own (and she could only spend so long in the showers before someone came along to bang on the door and yell for her to get a move on) so she savours it when she can. Skating her fingers above the coarse border of hair, massaging gently. Her muscles don’t knot up now the way they used to, but a massage is always nice. She kind of wishes she was still capable of feeling knots or cramps; of having that tangible reminder of what she’s done. Getting powerslammed into the ground is fun and all, but it would be even more fun if she had something to remember it by. Something more than the musky scent of sweat lingering in her nostrils, the harsh breathing in her ear, the weight of Andy’s body pressing her down and holding her there.

She really likes it, honestly. The sensation of being held, being pinned. Not in, like a kinky way (okay, maybe a bit of a kinky way) but knowing that she’s at Andy’s mercy. The sheer _presence_ of that woman is astonishing, six thousand years old or no. Nile’s sure she was just as much a force of nature when she was thirty. Hadn’t she said she’d been worshipped as a god? Nile’s not worshipping her any time soon, but she can see how people did. Didn’t people have ritual sex back then? She can _definitely_ see that just as an excuse to get your clothes off in the hopes of possibly getting fucked by a god who looks like they could either kill you or fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.

She slides one leg up, knee bent so that she has better access, hand sliding lower. Fuck, she’s wet. She really, truly hadn’t thought she’d had this in her – sure, she knew she had a thing for older women, but “older women who can kick her ass” is a newly discovered fetish. Can anyone _blame_ her, though?

It’s not like she’d ( _oh fuck_ , as her fingers slide in her wetness and the sudden burst of pleasure takes her by surprise) act on it. There’s soft feelings and there’s hard truths, and the hard truth is that acting on any of this would be a fucking _disaster_. For a whole host of reasons. She remembers the PFC in basic training who hooked up with the staff sergeant, and how both of them got bounced out on their asses when word got around. Nile’s not getting bounced out of this army on her ass, but the logic remains the same: don’t fuck your commander. The battlefield isn’t a place for feelings, especially not between ranks.

So she won’t. Because she’s too smart for that.

But she can still imagine.

Imagine Andy pressing her down and _holding_ her there, not letting up when Nile cries uncle, because this isn’t a fight, this is higher stakes than that. Imagine Andy grasping her hips, making sure she can’t buck up against her when she puts her tongue ( _fuck_ ) inside her. Not easing her into it, just holding her there and eating her out until she _screams_ , until she comes and comes and _comes_ ( _oh, god_ ) not giving her a single second to catch her breath. Andy shows no mercy when they’re fighting; she definitely wouldn’t if they were fucking, and Nile would _love_ it. Just thinking about it is enough to drive her over the edge.

She takes a second to catch her breath, after, damp fingers resting against her thigh as she stares at the ceiling. It’s not happening. She knows it’s not happening. Maybe once they’ve moved somewhere closer to civilization (because their safe house in the mountains is absolutely not within driving distance of any gay bars) she can go out and find someone she actually can fuck, burn off the nervous energy that way. Because it’s still there, even after the orgasm – muted, but thrumming away under her skin. If she sleeps tonight, it won’t be for long.

She throws her free arm over her eyes with a sigh. Maybe Andy will be back tomorrow, and they can fight. Failing that, maybe she’ll follow through on her promise to fight the guys and show them what she can do. It’s a distant second to what she actually wants, but it’s all she’s going to get for now.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been to Andorra, so I don't actually know if there are any gay bars in Escaldes-Engordany. If there are, I apologize for slandering your parish.


End file.
